holy land is a book, life turns its pages, paper cuts, white skin, numbers,
back and forth, kiss the wall, nothing can stop me. God walks on humans,
women are worth nothing. Pray and have babies. Clean your holy man, take
care of the holy children of the Holy Father and clean up. And carry another
baby. And pray.
18 % of Israel is ultra-orthodox. Mea Shearim. 100 gates. No use of others. Walk on them. Run over them with your car, we are the chosen ones. Skin problems. Only us, and God, and the book, and the land. And wigs. And black heavy fur coats and black heavy fur hats, and beards, and skin problems, white skin, and dandruffs, and trances and chanting and prayers, but no military service. And no divorce. Make love trough a sheet. Arranged weddings. The sink is full of women’s hair. The floor, the sink, the mirror. And the woman is silent.
Shabbat. No driving, no working, no cooking. The others can fight and do the military service. I am praying. And I want land. The others can burn in hell, I am the chosen one. The golden one. Make love the wailing wall, kiss the stone, caress the wall, cry, shake, pray and then hit your wife. Rock more. Pray more. Hit your head against the wall. Cry. Hit your wife against the wall. Fill the sink with her hair, pray and don’t look at humans, make love trough a sheet and cry against the wall.
Pray. Understand books and walls but no human. Not even your wife. Don’t even look at her. Pray. Rock your body for concentration. Let your hair grow and bring the world’s energy to your head. Shake. Pray. Look at letters, numbers, never at her eyes, at her skin. Shave her hair.
only duty as a woman is to bear a man’s child. And to pray.